


Third Time's a Charm

by scarlettandblue



Series: Qua Torva Res Es [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, SGA Secret Santa 2009, Stargate Atlantis Vegas AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 20:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10624134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettandblue/pseuds/scarlettandblue





	

John Sheppard had drifted for a year after he was discharged from the Air Force. Sometimes when he first woke up he didn‘t remember that he was out of the service. He thought he was still in the desert, and that he was just dreaming of a different life, a life he’d rather have. But then he’d wake up fully and realize he wasn’t exactly living any kind of dream. And he’d wish that he was still in the desert, still struggling to survive, to keep Mitch alive because there was at least some point to that.

He knew he had his father or maybe David to thank for getting him out without a dishonorable discharge. But he didn’t thank them. They might have ignored the fact he hadn’t wanted out. But John couldn‘t ignore it.

He didn’t give a lot of thought to why he ended up in Las Vegas, it just happened that way. And once he was there John didn’t hate it. Not completely. So he stayed and he just kind of drifted into the job.

And it was strange -- the same things that had made him a good pilot made him a good cop. Attention to detail, an ability to become completely absorbed in the job and yet keep functioning, an obsessive personality. And, as if it balanced out some universal law, it was no surprise at all that the very same things that had got John in the worst trouble as a pilot would get him just as much trouble in the Las Vegas Metro PD.

The difference was John recognized the job was pretty much a last chance for him, so he learned to reign himself in.

Most times, when he thought he was right and the Captain was talking out of his ass, he managed to keep it to himself. And when the life he was living seemed too flat, too hollow and ugly he discovered betting more money than he could afford to lose on the turn of a single card went some way to reminding him that he was still alive, mostly.

And being ex-forces had some definite advantages in the LVMPD. Every now and then some weird shit happened that led back to Edwards or Nellis or Groom Lake and the military definitely preferred dealing with someone they thought they knew. Someone they thought understood the Chain of Command, that they thought understood the way War affected some men and women. Someone who might not fight the hand-off to military jurisdiction when a pilot fresh off the front line in Afghanistan went ape-shit in a Las Vegas hotel room. Or some airmen beat the crap out of each other over a pretty girl.

Which was how come two years ago he had ended up in Alamo liaising with MPs and the local County Sheriff, an Air Force Colonel and some secret service types in suits, over an apparent burglary and a missing scientist.

The guy had gone AWOL from his super secret research Lab, and apparently there was some missing tech or ordinance as well. By the time John got there the crime scene, if that’s what it even was, had been contaminated beyond all hope of getting anything useful. The scientist’s neighbor who had first raised the alarm, then the Deputy who had turned up, had gone through the place poking about. Then the County sheriff, the MPs, the Colonel and the guys in suits and shades had arrived. Then some military unit had gone over the place under the guise of searching for the dangerous High Tech WOMD or whatever the fuck was missing. But John suspected they had really been sent to sanitize the place before he’d arrived.

John had never been anywhere near Black Ops when he’d been in the Air Force, but he had volunteered to fly a few Special Ops missions, so he’d been around the special forces guys a few times, and he’d seen stuff, every one in the front line had, stuff that it was better you forgot, stuff you knew to look the other way from. And whatever was going on, whatever the missing scientist had been working on, John could tell they weren’t going to tell him. He was pretty sure it was something he didn’t want to know.

He found himself wondering if the guy was even really missing. Wondering if it wasn’t simply that someone had slipped up and forgotten that the guy had a cat his neighbor was in the habit of feeding when he was on vacation or was unable to get away from work. He was wondering if the neighbor hadn’t been the sheriff’s sister who had contacted her brother directly when she discovered the mess in her neighbour’s house that suggested some kind of break-in and violent struggle, then maybe the whole thing would have been quietly covered up.

But something had happened in the house. There were rips and tears in the furniture and gouges and other strange marks that looked suspiciously like bites on some of the floors and a couple of the internal doors. And finally the back door looked like it had been mauled by some kind of ferocious animal. In fact, John wouldn’t have been at all surprised if someone had told him the scientist had kept a cougar or a lion for a pet instead of a Persian.

Sheppard had know there was more to see in the place, but he also knew he’d never get a chance to properly investigate while the military types had their eyes on him. So he stood among the ripped up debris of the scientist’s lounge, looking vaguely bemused behind his aviators as he stared out at the desert scenery. It was a blindingly simple tactic yet he was amazed at how often it worked. He‘d look confused and clueless and people assumed he was the kind of guy who got by on his good looks and charm. That there really wasn‘t much going on in his head.

Major Davies left with the MPs. Then the secret service types, the chief suit never gave John a name but he was pretty sure he’d heard the major call him Simmons. Finally Sheriff Arlen left with his sister, Pammy, and the cat.

John stood for another five minutes letting the feel and the sounds of the house settle round him. He had spotted a few things he wanted a closer look at, but he waited to be sure that no one was going to come back unexpectedly.

When he was sure he wouldn’t be interrupted John stepped back to look at the bookshelves. He could pretty much figure out what field of science the missing guy was working in from the various titles on his shelves. Seemed he was some kind of astrophysicist with a practical interest in engineering, robotics and artificial intelligence. There were a few odd objects scattered on the shelves and one photo in a cheap frame. It showed two children, an intense looking blond kid, maybe ten years old, standing beside something that spouted coils and pipes so it looked like a weird home-made still, and next to him was a much younger child, maybe his little sister judging by her similar coloring. John stared at the photo for a minute before he headed out to the kitchen to take a closer look at the back door.

When he had arrived and seen the military presence outside the alleged crime scene he guessed he wasn’t going to be given much access. So he’d shoved some evidence bags and latex gloves in his pocket, hoping there would be a chance to gather evidence, provided he wasn‘t obvious about it.

John pulled some strands of light brown hair that had been snagged in one of the gouges in the door and bagged them, noting the date and location on the label. There was some kind of dried fluid on another area of damage, he scraped off some rough splinters that seemed to be coated into another bag. Then he got his cell phone out and photographed the door, including the areas he had taken the samples from.

While he was crouched by the door he spotted something under the breakfast bar and quickly took a photo before bagging it. He worked his way quickly through the rest of the house, remembering to grab the used toothbrush from the bathroom. The forensics guys were always sending out memos reminding them that hairbrushes and toothbrushes were great for DNA samples.

By the time he had finished it was getting late and John figured he’d forward the photos to his email account, just in case anything happened to the phone, then he’d call in and then finish for the night. He wasn’t a bit surprised when he was put straight through to Captain Hendricks. He was off the case.

The story was that the missing military hardwear had been located. All that left was a missing person‘s report, and local deputies could liaise directly with the Military about that if the guy didn‘t turn up of his own accord.

John ended the call. He didn’t have anything specific to go on. He didn’t have anything he could take to the Captain to prove it was a whitewash. All he had was a gut feeling that told him something was off. And John always trusted his instincts because they had saved his life more times than he could count. He figured he could give himself the rest of the night to come up with something. As long as he was at his desk by nine the next morning no one would ask him any awkward questions about what he had done with his evening.

John started with the bookshelf again. Checking the books and journals that looked the most used, ones where the spines were cracked or the jacket looked worn. He noted the pages the books automatically fell open at. He looked at the odd slips of paper that marked some of the pages. Comments written on them like ‘No moron- You‘re looking at the problem from the wrong end!’ or ’wrong wrong wrong!!!’ and ’a child of five could see this mistake!’ all written in a surprisingly legible hand. The guy obviously had a pretty low opinion of his fellow scientists, which made John wonder how much of an asshole he actually was, but it didn‘t feel like enough of a motive for whatever had happened to him.

John wandered back to the guy’s bedroom. It was depressingly bare and comfortless, and it spoke of someone who had probably given up on having a life. To be honest, it was enough like his own bedroom to make John feel deeply uncomfortable. He poked through the bedside drawers and that felt even sadder. Because while it was a dispiriting thing to find some other guy’s pathetic porn stash, it was somehow exponentially worse to find nothing. Like the guy didn’t allow himself even a moment or two of comfort in his own bed.

As he looked round the place again, it struck him that only two places in the house seemed to have any spark of interest or significance. The work area -- desk, bookshelves, haphazard piles of books and magazines -- and the kitchen where an incredibly professional-looking espresso machine stood on the kitchen worktop. There were several colourful mismatched mugs on top of it, and a row of brushed aluminium canisters next to it, containing more varieties of coffee than John had ever heard of.

John wouldn’t have minded a cup or two of really good coffee, but he had no idea how to operate the damn thing.

He decided that if he intended to make a night of it, poke around in the hopes of digging up something tangible to take back to convince Captain Hendricks there was something to investigate, then he was going to need something more substantial to keep him going than a glass of water, a lone bag of chips or handfuls of dry Count Chochula, because there was no milk in the fridge, only more coffee beans! John checked out the kitchen drawers, because any detective would know that a house with no food was sure to have a pile of take-out menus somewhere near the phone.

He rang a Chinese place, they seemed a little confused about the dishes he wanted and he had to convince them citrus was fine by him, before he managed to convince them to deliver an order of hot and sour soup, special fried rice with shrimp and some dry roasted ribs, plus six cans of Coke. He figured what didn’t get eaten for dinner would keep for breakfast, and there should be enough caffeine in the soda to keep him awake until he could hit a drive thru on his way back in the morning for some coffee.

When the food arrived the delivery guy handed him an extra box, and John got some kind of garbled message about the last six deliveries and a free desert offer. John figured it was some mistake but when he looked in the box and saw it was carrot cake he just smiled and accepted the order.

He seriously couldn’t remember the last time he had such a good meal, normally food wasn’t much of a priority for him. He even had a second slice of the cake because it was so good, moist sweet fruit contrasted with tangy frosting, and it tasted like heaven.

John had been lying on the sofa after his meal, thinking about the evidence he had picked up. He was trying to make sense of it, trying to find a pattern that fit and he must have fallen asleep. He woke with a start, unsure at first where he was. Moonlight was streaming in through the huge glass doors that let out onto the back yard. Movement beyond the edge of the garden caught his eye.

It was a rangy creature. John wasn’t sure if it was a small wolf or a large coyote. He watched the strangely compelling sight as the animal flowed through the moonlit landscape. Its motion seemed deliberate and it moved to a different rhythm than the rest of the night, slower and with more intent.

The colors out beyond in the desert were washed out, with silvered grey and stark black contrasts where the light didn‘t penetrate. The creature seemed part quicksilver part night shadow as it slipped from light to shade and back to light again.

And all the while John watched, until the animal filled his vision. Until everything else faded and blurred. Until each step it took seemed to resonate with the rhythm of his heart beat. Each footfall a crescendo of sound thudded in his ears as his blood rushed through his body. Each beat of his heart thundered inside him as if he was hollowed out and light as air one moment then filled with weight and pressure the next. Then the world turned red.

John realized he must still be asleep, that this was a dream. And suddenly the creature was at the glass, staring in at him. Its eyes were an uncanny shade of blue. Not the pale wall-eyed blue that occurred naturally in some coyotes. They were the dark blue of a stormy sea, welling with intelligence and unutterably sad.

John had moved towards the glass door without realising what he was doing. He opened the door without thinking, and it was only as he fell back from the creature as it leapt towards him that he understood his mistake.

He landed heavily on his back. He cracked his head against the floor, leaving him stunned for a moment, so reality seeped slowly back into his consciousness. He wasn’t asleep. He had just let a wild animal into the room with him. As his eyes focussed again he saw the animal was crouched over him. Deep blue eyes locked with his, watching him with an intensity that made him still and cold and maybe, for the only the third or fourth time ever in his life, really afraid.

His arms had fallen wide as he landed and he realized his right arm had ended up beneath the sofa in the small space between the springs and the floor, and his hand was curled around something smooth and cool that must have been lying there. He wanted to glance aside, to see what he was holding. To see if it would be in any way useful as a weapon to fight off a hungry wild animal, yet he knew with icy certainty that if he so much as flickered his eye, if he so much as blinked, the creature poised over him would act.

His mind seemed slow and dull and there was a deep swelling ache at the back of his head, so maybe he was really hurt already. But he forced his thoughts to clear, because he needed to know what he was holding. He focussed on whether it was something useful.

It felt unlike anything he was familiar with and as his mind seemed to sharpen he tried to recognize the shape and the feel of it. As he thought ‘what are you?’ there was a bizarre fizzing and popping feeling in his fingers where they curled around the object.

Slowly he withdrew his hand, and all the while he kept his eyes wide meeting the animal's gaze. Even so, he saw the creature’s focus shift towards his moving arm and hand.

There was a crackling sensation in the palm of his hand and then pure light transfixed the creature above him -- and John couldn’t help it, he turned too and looked at the thing he was holding.

It appeared as if he had a handful of lightning. But it was cold fire, there was no sensation of heat. There was no pain. But he felt something pushing at him, prying its way into his mind -- a word, a command. John tried to focus, to push aside the dull feeling where his head ached. He frowned, concentrating, it was just one word. Suddenly it was there.

Transform

Light flared brighter and from the corner of his eye John saw a flowing movement -- for a second it seemed that something else was crouched over him, broad and pale, and then everything was changing. Transforming. And John was simply gone.


End file.
